Timed Release
by Verdreht
Summary: He was nothing and then suddenly, Ianto was cold...What if the 456 virus was never meant to kill anyone at all? What if there was something happening? Now it's up to the team to figure out what it is. And with some unexpected help. A CoE fix-it. Janto
1. Chapter 1

_Awareness came slowly, light blips on the edge of an unending darkness. And cold; it was so, so cold. It nipped at his nerve endings and…_

_ He had nerves. He had nerves, and skin, and a body and—and oh God, God it hurt. Why did it hurt? _

_ There was noise suddenly, like the grinding of the tube on its rails, like the raking of nails on chalkboards, like the scratching of sandpaper against rough wood. It was too loud; he wished it would stop, wished it would be muted. It was too loud, too painful. _

_ And then he realized it was him. He was screaming. There was barely air in his lungs, and he felt his chest burning with it, the noise that wouldn't stop, the scream that wouldn't be silenced. He had lungs, he had a throat. He had a mouth, and if he had that, then surely he had a nose. And…and eyes. The knowledge was foreign to him; it didn't make any sense, because he didn't understand. He didn't know what was going on, all he knew was that it was dark and that it hurt. It hurt so much. _

_ He could do nothing about it, though. There was nothing he could do to escape the pain. The darkness, though…perhaps that was something he could remedy. He opened his eyes – a harder struggle than it should have been, than it ever had been, and it, too, hurt – and suddenly, there was…_

_ Darkness. Still, there was darkness. The screaming continued, and so he knew there was something, that it wasn't just nothingness, because there was sound. There had to be something!_

_ A twitch. His finger, resting against his side, twitched. With it, he became aware of his limbs, stiff and foreign. He became aware of his control over them, of his influence over them. He could make them move, but it came at a price. As he lifted his arm, something in him screamed out, cried for him to stop. The pain was unbelievable, but he couldn't stop. He had to know if there was something, so he reached, up, up, and—_

_ The back of his hand met something cold, through what felt like fabric now pulled tight over his face. It was colder than the rest of him – frigid, bitingly so. He recoiled, but then curiosity got the better of him and, ignoring the agony now ripping through his body, he reached again, and again he met with ice. Solid, and so, so close. It was on top of him, he realized, barely inches above his nose, and a sudden dash of fear lanced through his chest. What if…what if it wasn't just above him. _

_ He threw his arm out, sideways, only to strike another wall of ice, and suddenly the clang of metal joined his screams. They hadn't stopped, and now, neither could he, throwing his arms this way and that, above him, beside him, thrashing his feet, anything. He had to know, was it around him? Was it there? Was it everywhere, holding him in, trapping him? _

_ And it was. Oh God, it was. It was everywhere, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was trapped with nothing but the darkness, his screams, and pain. Searing, unbearable pain, and no one would help him. _

_ Moisture gathered in his open, unseeing eyes, spilling over his cheeks as one thought congealed in the mad mist of his head. _

_ 'Jack…'_


	2. Chapter 2

Jack couldn't sleep, now that all the madness of 456 had cleared up. No, that was an understatement. He couldn't even lie down, couldn't sit still, couldn't even _breathe_ through the aching in his chest. It was like a hole had been blown straight through him, leaving an open, gaping _nothing_ in its wake.

He was gone. Ianto was dead, and he'd watched him die – held him in his arms as the life left his broken body. And he had been so broken. Cuts and bruises littered his body, broken ribs, and his leg…God, his leg. Martha had done the autopsy, and he'd seen…oh, his poor Ianto. Always so quiet, always so valiant, he hadn't even said he'd been hurting. Jack guessed it had been from the explosion, for the most part, and he hated himself for not noticing, for not asking him.

Martha had been very clinical when she'd explained it to him – something that he both despised and appreciated. Two breaks in his left femur just above his knee cap, a compound fracture in his tibia, a tear in the ACL, and the cartilage had been shredded, no doubt from his walking on it. Three ribs broken, two cracked: the bruise had covered his entire right side. He had a hairline fracture on his right forearm; it had already started to heal, albeit improperly. Jack had watched as Martha cut the intricate braces from his body.

And he'd thought Ianto had escaped the blast with nothing but the scratch on his cheek. How foolish he'd been; how foolish, and how ignorant. He hadn't noticed he was in pain, and there was no doubting he had been. He'd still had the Demerol coursing through his veins when he…when Martha had run the tests.

Why hadn't he noticed? He'd had the opportunity. In the main warehouse that day, when he'd asked Jack...when he'd asked to spend time with him, and Jack had let the moment slip by. How he hated himself for that. If only he'd made Rhys leave, he would've seen the wounds his beautiful, broken Ianto had been hiding from him. He would never have let him go to that building; he would never have breathed in that poison.

Before he could stop it, a shout ripped from his throat and he slammed his fist against the wall of his bedroom.

His bedroom…it didn't feel like his. Sure, they'd dressed the warehouse up – it almost resembled the old Hub with a kitchen, a bedroom for Jack, an infirmary, indoor plumbing and, of course, a morgue. Gwen and Rhys had moved into a house of their own, so he supposed it was just him and Ianto there. "So…just me," he breathed, a ghost of a chuckle forming on his lips.

A sudden sound caught his attention, and he stood. "At least, I thought it was," he mumbled. He didn't really know why he said it aloud – maybe just to fill the companionless silence. Then again, it wasn't quite silent. No, the sound continued, barely audible, almost like a breath of wind in his ear, accented by soft, rhythmic clangs.

He grabbed his gun off his bedside table and pushed open the door to his room, slipping outside into the open warehouse. It was a game of follow the leader, and with his ears as guides, he walked out past the make-shift work stations and kitchen, past the sofa.

It didn't take long for him to realize where he was going; the noise was coming from the morgue.

Swallowing deeply, he made his way into the cold, dim-lit room, and found himself immediately facing a wall of cabinets. Of them, only one was filled, and as he approached…but no, that couldn't be right. The noise, it was coming from the cabinets.

More than that – it was coming from _the_ cabinet. _Ianto's_.

Heart now thudding in his chest, Jack walked, gun brandished, towards the centermost square door. His palms were sweating as he reached out to grasp the handle, and he recoiled as a sudden _thud_ bounced the handle in his grip.

And suddenly, he couldn't get the door open fast enough. The sound, muffled by the closed door, was more distinct now, and he realized with a start what it was.

Screaming.

He practically ripped the door off its hinges trying to get it open, and suddenly the full volume of the shouting struck him. He knew that voice.

With one hefty tug, he pulled the table from the shelf, and was shocked to see the body bag resting there…writhing. It was writhing, frantically, and Jack was equally frantic as he ripped at the zipper.

An arm lashed out at him, catching him in the face, but he barely felt it as incoherent screams tore into his ears. He didn't care; all he cared about was the body that was thrashing on the metal table.

"Ianto," he breathed, and just like that, he snapped back into himself. "Ianto!" he repeated, stronger this time, and he grabbed the thrashing arms, leaning over the table and holding them as cold flesh tightened over straining muscles in his grasp. Cold, but very much alive as the pulse pounded beneath his fingers.

A pair of frantic blue eyes looked up into his, unfocused and panicked, and the face staring back at him made his heart skip in his chest.

Another unintelligible scream drew him back to the present, and the agony, the terror in it, made his heart wrench.

"Ianto, it's okay," he said before he could even forge a thought. The words just seemed to come, and he let them, keeping his hold on Ianto's cold, slender wrists even as he struggled against him. "Shh, it's okay. It's me, Yan; it's Jack. I'm here now, all right?"

The screams cut off abruptly, replaced by startled breaths and grunts as Ianto started trying to push himself up and back, his legs twisting and kicking in the body bag.

Jack didn't know what was going on, or how Ianto was suddenly alive and apparently kicking, but he did know that the pain on amount of pain Ianto's face and the amount of movement seemed to be directly related. "Stay still," he commanded, his voice calm but firm as he pushed Ianto back down onto the cold metal table. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you, Yan, but I need you to lie still, okay?"

But Ianto didn't seem to understand, his eyes wide and his breath quickening still. At this rate, he'd hyperventilate or something.

So, Jack did the only thing he could think of: he pulled Ianto up into his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

And just like that, Ianto broke down. The panic from before became sobs, harsh and heart breaking, as Ianto buried his face in Jack's shoulder.

"Help," he cried as his tears soaked through Jack's button-up.

"Shh, I will," he promised. He could feel Ianto shaking against him, hard, and decided that first, he needed to get Ianto somewhere warm. "Come on, let's get you out of here." He wondered, for a moment, how he was going to go about doing that. Should he let Ianto walk?

A glance at the bruises, now freshly revitalized as blood now apparently pumped through Ianto's system again, led Jack to believe that his wounds had not healed even if he was alive. And Jack remembered his leg, remembered the broken bones there. Ianto couldn't walk on that. "I'm going to pick you up, all right?" he told Ianto. When Ianto didn't respond, still reduced to hysterical cries into Jack's shoulder, the older man slid an arm under his bare knees and lifted his bare form from the table.

Suddenly, Ianto had something to say. "Stop!" he screamed, pushing frantically away from Jack. "Please!"

Jack didn't put him down, though; he held him tighter to keep him from falling, despite knowing exactly why Ianto was begging to be released. His leg hadn't healed, and neither had his ribs, and as he twisted and struggled, Jack could feel the bones popping and shifting. "I'm not putting you down, I'm sorry," he told him as he carried his charge out of the morgue. It was, if he was being honest, just as much for Ianto's benefit as his own; the morgue was a place Jack found he could no longer stand; he needed to get his resurrected love somewhere he could help him, and the morgue just wasn't it.

Thankfully, the infirmary was only one room over, and he backed into the door to push it open before carrying Ianto straight in and to the bed where he sat him down. He guessed if something good _had_ come out of the destruction of the Hub, it would be this new infirmary; it was more than a step up from the old one, fully equipped and far better furnished. It wasn't the clinical white of a usual infirmary – they had Ianto to thank for that, actually – and Jack had to hope that the sheet-covered hospital bed in the center of the room was an improvement from the cold metal drawer of the morgue.

"There, see, you're okay," Jack told him, running a hand through Ianto's sweat-dampened hair and pulling the blankets of the bed over his bare form. "I'm going to call Martha, okay, so she can get a look at you."

Ianto was silent as Jack made the call, shaking hard all the while, but then, "Jack," he whispered, his voice raw as he looked up, his blue eyes scared and searching, "what's going on? How did I get here?"

Jack's jaw clenched and he fought back the lump in his throat. "We'll talk about it later, okay Yan, when you're feeling better."

The lump only grew larger as tears gathered and streamed from Ianto's eyes. "It hurts, Jack," he choked out, and he sounded so utterly _pleading_ that Jack couldn't resist the urge to pull the smaller man into his arms once again. He didn't know if he could ever let him go now, not after he'd been without him so long.

"Shh, I know it does," Jack soothed, fighting back tears of his own, "but Martha's gonna be here soon, and she'll fix you right up, okay? Then it won't hurt anymore." He forced a smile through moist eyes as he dipped his head to meet Ianto's eyes.

Only to see the most haunted look he'd ever seen. "I'm so sorry," the younger man breathed.

The oddity of the statement caught Jack off guard. "What on earth could you have to be sorry for?"

"What you must've seen…all those deaths you've died," Ianto said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes bored into Jack's, but he almost got the feeling Ianto wasn't seeing him at all. "It's so dark there, Jack. There's nothing…." Suddenly, Ianto's gaze became so sharp and pointed Jack almost shuddered under the intensity. There was a plea in that look. "I can't go back there. Please don't make me go back." He was begging by the end of it as he once again descended to hysterics.

Jack immediately pulled him closer, letting Ianto bury his face in his chest as he rubbed his back carefully through the fabric of the blankets. "You're not going anywhere, Yan," he assured him, pressing a kiss to the top of Ianto's head. "I'm not letting you go anytime soon, I promise."

And that was a promise he intended to keep, whatever it took.


	3. Chapter 3

Martha arrived quickly, but it wasn't a single pair of shoes Jack heard, but three, and when the door to the infirmary swung open again, Martha wasn't the one he saw.

"Oh. My. God." Gwen's eyes were wide as she took in the sight before her. Jack still held Ianto, who had quieted to the occasional weak whimper as the pain spiked.

To her credit, though, she recovered quickly and hurried inside, allowing Martha to follow her and, to Jack's surprise, Rhys. "I called her on the way," Martha explained as she made it to the other side of the bed. "I thought she would want to know."

Jack nodded, and then set about getting Ianto ready for what was sure to be the most unpleasant doctor's visit of his life…well, lives. "Hey, Yan, look who's here," he said gently as he started to loosen his hold on him.

Ianto had other things in mind, though, curling in tighter to Jack with a desperate and pitiful sound. His shaking intensified, and though Jack got the feeling a lot of it was nerves, Ianto had only just started to warm up.

"Rhys, do me a favor. Run into my room and grab my great coat off the hanger."

Rhys nodded and disappeared, only to reappear seconds later, out of breath, but heavy one great coat which he quickly passed on to Jack. Jack favored him with a nod, and then pulled the great coat around Ianto's shoulders.

"I remember this coat," Ianto muttered softly, and Jack watched as he curled his fingers in the thick wool.

"He can keep that on while you get started, can't he?" Jack asked as Martha pulled out her stethoscope. He supposed it made sense – first thing to do when a dead guy comes back to life is listen to his heart. Jack was glad to report that, as he had felt numerous times, there was a heartbeat to speak of.

"Of course he can," Martha said with a gentle, pleasant smile. "Can I?" The last was directed to Ianto, whose wide eyes darted to Jack quickly, as if seeking reassurance. In all honesty, he wasn't sure if Ianto was ready for much of anything – he knew how jarring it was to come back to life, and he was used to it.

"Go ahead," he told her. Gwen and Rhys were keeping a safe distance as Martha began her examination.

It wasn't entirely surprising when Ianto jumped as the stethoscope touched his chest, but it still made Jack's heart ache. He kept a hand on Ianto's, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The testing continued for a while, with Ianto ending up lying down on the bed. His ribs were hurting him, and he was incredibly weak. After the blood test, too, he just couldn't hold himself up. Finally, though, nearly an hour later, Martha stopped.

"I've got some good news and some bad news."

"Good news first," Jack said immediately. Things had suddenly taken a turn for the better, and Jack wasn't willing to give that up just yet.

Martha nodded. "Well, as far as I can tell, Ianto Jones is a hundred-percent alive and kicking."

"That's bloody excellent news!" Rhys exclaimed from behind her, only to subside as Gwen rested a hand on his elbow.

"What's the bad news?" she asked.

Jack felt as much as saw Ianto tense beside him, and before anyone could protest, he gently lifted Ianto and slid into the bed beside him, holding him against his chest. He didn't think it hurt him too badly, and he'd found Ianto valued the contact. His arms around Ianto's slender shoulders, he nodded to Martha.

"Well," she began to Ianto, almost apologetically, "as you probably noticed, love, I'm afraid you've got yourself some pretty severe injuries. Now that you're al-…with us, we're going to have to see to them."

Jack cringed for Ianto. He'd thought about that some time ago, but now that it had come to it, he was dreading it.

"You're going to need surgery, so I'm going to need to put you under for a bit," she said. Jack looked at her nervously, and she walked over to him, leaning to whisper in his ear, soft enough that the shaking patient in his arms couldn't hear, "I'm almost positive he'll come out of it, Jack – he really is alive. Not all that bruising is just surface, though. He's got internal bleeding; he's anemic already. I have to operate, or his internal organs will shut down."

When put in those terms, it didn't seem they had a choice, and as Martha set about preparing the sedatives, Jack set about telling Ianto.

"What did she say?" the younger man asked weakly, craning his neck as far as he could manage.

Jack smiled as reassuringly as he could manage. "You'll be just fine, you've just got some things that she needs to fix. You'll be all right, but I promise you that you don't want to be awake for it."

Despite his words, Ianto suddenly panicked. "Jack, no," he breathed, his eyes huge as his breathing quickened. "I don't want it. I'll be fine as I am; I don't want it."

"Yan, we've got to," Jack said as he slid out from behind him to stand next to the bed. He didn't want to, but Martha gave him _the look_ as she approached the other side of the bed with the tray of IV supplies.

"No!" Ianto screamed as soon as he saw the needle lying on the metal tray, and then all hell broke loose. With renewed energy, Ianto pushed himself up, obviously planning to make an escape.

Jack was ready, though, and pulled him back down from behind, taking up post at the head of his bed. "Gwen, Rhys, I think we're going to need some help over here," he called, before turning his attention back to the man on the bed. He stared down at him, watching the panic grow in those gorgeous blue eyes as Ianto started to thrash.

"Let me go!" Ianto shouted, but as he went to lash out at his captor, he found his arms restrained. Martha had one, and quickly pulled the restraints over his wrist, as Gwen did the other. The latter kept her hold on his hand, though, as Rhys took his legs and Martha set about securing those to the table. Ianto cried out at that, a mix of pain and terror.

"Mind his left leg," Martha said quickly as she pulled a strap across his waist.

"Jack, make them stop," Ianto begged, staring up pleadingly at Jack. Not that he could look anywhere else; Jack kept a hand under his chin, holding his head still.

"It's okay, Yan, we're not going to hurt you," Jack told him, using his free hand to brush some of Ianto's hair back off his forehead.

The gesture, which had so often soothed the younger man after nightmares or rough days, didn't seem to work at all. Ianto twisted, his eyes straining down to see what was being done as Martha secured the last restraint. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"Ianto, sweetheart, we're going to take care of you," Gwen told him, her hand still held in his as he twisted and squirmed against them.

"Please!" Ianto screamed, as Martha appeared beside Jack with a mask in her hands. Ianto saw it, and reared his head back against the pillow, his eyes wide and frenzied. "What is that?"

"It's just some nitrous oxide. It's just going to make you relax," Martha told him.

If possible, Ianto's eyes widened further as they turned upwards to Jack, tears streaming fervently down his face. "Please don't, Jack," he begged. "I can't go back there! Please don't make me go back to the dark!"

Jack just hushed him, stroking his thumb down the side of Ianto's face, wiping away one of the tear tracks that marred his terrified face. "You're just going to go to sleep, Yan. You'll wake up, and you won't be hurting anymore. Won't that be good?" he asked, his voice shaking as he managed a smile for Ianto's sake, despite the burning in his own eyes.

He really believed that; he trusted Martha. But Ianto was just so scared...knowing that he was part of his young lover's torment was breaking his heart.

"Please," Ianto sobbed, blinking as too much salty moisture blurred his vision. "You know what it's like there, Jack. You can't send me back!"

"You won't even know you're sleeping, sweetheart," Gwen assured him, and Martha nodded quickly.

"Next thing you know, you'll be waking up right as rain to old Jack here." And with that, she pressed the mask over Ianto's face.

Ianto screamed. He tried desperately to turn his head away from it, but Jack held his chin still, shushing him softly as he stroked his fingers through Ianto's hair. And when he couldn't scream anymore, he held his breath, because he knew he had to breathe for it to work, and surely Jack wouldn't let him suffocate!

"He's choking himself, he is," Rhys said, but he seemed far away.

"It's all right, Ianto, just breathe. Just breathe," Martha told him, rubbing his arm reassuringly.

And when he couldn't hold his breath any longer, when his lungs were screaming and his ribs were crying out in agony, Ianto gasped. He hadn't wanted to, and as soon as he did, a look of horror spread across his face as though he'd just been consigned to death. In his mind, as far as he knew, he had.

Jack smiled wider, even though it physically pained him. "There you go, Yan," he said, "just calm down and breathe." He wasn't breathing, though, not until necessity again forced him to take in a breath, and then another, and another.

"All right, Ianto, you're just going to feel a little pressure in your arm, alright? It's just an IV. It's not going to hurt you," Martha said, and made quick work of placing and taping the IV in the vein of Ianto's left elbow.

"Jack," Ianto whimpered, his voice muffled by the mask as he realized there was nothing he could do to escape his fate.

"Shh." Jack brushed the tears from Ianto's face, only to watch as more fell in their stead. "You're just gonna go to sleep. I won't let you go back to that place again."

Ianto's eyes bored into his, and the scared, injured man – barely old enough to be called that – gave a few last futile bucks to try to free himself before going still. It didn't take long for the medicine to work its magic, especially on someone as weak already as Ianto. _No, not weak_, Jack amended. Ianto was never weak.

Eyes starting to flicker closed, Ianto's face flashed with panic as he stared up at Jack pleadingly. He couldn't speak anymore, his tongue too heavy from the medicine and his head to distorted from the fear.

"That's good," Jack told him, leaning down to press a kiss to Ianto's forehead before brushing that same spot with his thumb gently. "I've got you. Just close your eyes and breathe."

Ianto made a noise in the back of his throat as his eyes started to roll in his head. Even nearing unconsciousness as he was, the distress in the soft cry was clear to everyone in the room. They all shared a glance; all save Jack, whose only focus was the young man on the bed in front of him.

"It's okay," Jack said, and despite his best efforts, a tear slipped and fell onto the plastic mask over Ianto's face. Seeing Ianto so scared was tearing at him like nothing he'd seen in his centuries of life. "I'm right here."

Finally, no longer able to fight it, Ianto let his eyes slide closed. His breath quickened for the briefest of moments, but as Jack stroked his fingers through Ianto's hair and whispered ever so softly to him, the rise and fall of his bruised chest evened out.

Ianto was asleep.

"Sleep well, Yan," Jack whispered, kissing Ianto's head as the tears began to fall freely. There was nothing he could do to stop them, and he didn't try. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

And he was waking up. Jack wasn't going to have it any other way.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack felt like he hadn't moved in days. And really, he hadn't, since they'd moved Ianto out of the infirmary and into the relatively unfurnished spare room. It was a lot homier than the infirmary, with a queen-sized bed, and now a rather comfortable chair which Jack had pulled up to the right side of the bed (the IV and other machinery had taken over the left). Jack didn't imagine he'd left that chair much over the last few days. Five days, precisely. Not for more than a few minutes at a time, to shower, shave, change clothes, and occasionally grab a bite to eat, when the others protested too much. Four days had passed; Martha said it was normal. Ianto's body – no, _Ianto_, not just his body – had been through a lot of stress, between the injuries and his sudden, mysterious revival, and it needed the time to recover. He needed time to recover.

The sound of boots clicking on concrete floor caught his attention, and he turned to see Gwen standing behind him. "How is he?" she asked

Jack shrugged. "About the same. Still sleeping, still breathing." He leaned forward, brushing his thumb across Ianto's forehead. "Still alive." And that word…God, that word still brought the lump into his throat. Ianto was _alive_.

Gwen smiled softly, resting her hand on his shoulder. "He'll be all right, Jack, you'll see," she said.

"I know," Jack said absently. "I just wish he'd wake up."

"Give him time. He came back to us once already."

Jack nodded, and then turned in his seat. "Did you need something?" he asked.

"Rhys and I are going out. I wanted to know if we could fetch you something; thought perhaps you might like us to take Ianto's things out of storage?"

That was right, Ianto's things…he'd be wanting those, what little they'd cleared from his flat. Honestly, aside from clothes and books, he hadn't had much. Not even enough to fill up a proper storage bin, though he'd gotten one all the same. The best one.

"Only the best for you, Yan," Jack whispered.

"Pardon?"

Jack shook his head. "Nothing. Yes. I mean, if you wouldn't mind." It was hard to concentrate, he'd been finding, and today was no exception. It was just…he could hardly bear to take his eyes off the beautiful sight in front of him: the rise and fall of Ianto's bandaged chest.

Gwen gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "All right, then. Call me if anything changes or you think of something else you'd like." Jack gave her a thumbs up, and with that, Gwen took her leave.

Jack wasn't sure how much time had passed since Gwen left; he didn't really care. He'd just gotten back from a quick trip to the john, and had only just started to sit down when he noticed something move out of the corner of his eye.

Could it? No…. Jack let himself fall the rest of the way into the seat, keeping his eyes trained on Ianto's hand, at the fingers sticking out from the white plaster that reached up nearly to his elbow. Martha'd had to re-break the bones to set them right, but she'd said they would heal soon enough.

Suddenly, another twitch, barely a flicker, caught Jack's eye. Slowly, Ianto's breathing began to change, quickening for a moment, before slacking off to even, measured breaths. Controlled breaths.

And Ianto was controlling them.

Jack knew the signs all too well. Whenever Ianto woke from a particularly horrific nightmare, whenever the world behind his eyes was too terrifying, he would always feign sleep until he could get himself calm again. He was always so careful, so guarded, and his sleep was no exception.

There was no mistaking it. Ianto was awake, and he was scared. Jack's first instinct was to comfort him, but he'd been in this situation before. Ianto needed the time, needed the chance to collect himself, and Jack was going to give it to him.

Only this time, it seemed he couldn't collect himself. Even as his breath stayed even, as his body stayed still, he couldn't hide it. When tears began to spring up from his closed eyes, thickening on his lashes and streaming down the sides of his face, Jack knew he couldn't just sit there.

Rising to his feet, he braced a hand on the pillow beside Ianto's head to hold himself up as he leaned over the bed. With his free hand, he gently stroked Ianto's cheek, brushing away the tears that wet his eyes. "Shh, you're awake. There's no more darkness, Yan, just open your eyes." He pressed a gentle kiss to Ianto's forehead. "Just let me see those beautiful baby blues."

He watched as Ianto's Adam's Apple bobbed, his face finally contorting to reveal the upset the tears had already made clear.

"Can't," Ianto choked out, his voice hoarse and airy with disuse.

Jack understood. His eyes were probably heavy, still thick with sleep, but that wasn't it. All Ianto knew was that it was dark, and that scared him. But more than the fear of the darkness behind his eyelids…was the fear of opening them, and seeing nothing but that same darkness. It had happened already, in the morgue.

"Yes, you can," Jack assured him, now caressing Ianto's cheeks with both hands, his face mere millimeters from Ianto's. He could feel the other's breaths on his face, so he knew Ianto could do the same. Anything to show him that there was something there, waiting for him when he opened his eyes. "Come on, Ianto, I'm right here. You can feel me, hear me; hell, I reckon you can smell me."

Ianto let out a weak, dry laugh, despite himself. "51st century pheromones," he breathed.

Jack chuckled. "That's right. Come on, then, just one thing left. Just open your eyes."

And Ianto did. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, and Jack found himself staring down into those blue eyes he loved so much. Jack smiled, stroking his fingers along Ianto's jaw. "Jack," the younger man whispered.

"In the flesh," Jack replied. "I told you I'd be right here when you woke up."

Ianto nodded, but it was a weak sort of nod, and one that would have had his head lolling to the side were it not for Jack holding his face between his hands. They had him on morphine, for the pain, and it looked to be doing a number on him. Ianto always did have a low threshold for opioids.

"Someone's tired," Jack teased softly, tapping Ianto's nose.

"I'm not," Ianto protested immediately, but the slurring told another story, as did his apparent inability to focus his eyes. "Not tired at all. Slept long enough."

Even as the normally articulate man tripped over his tongue, Jack got the feeling that he really did mean it. Not that he wasn't tired, perhaps, but he certainly didn't think Ianto wanted to go back to sleep. He could sympathize; normally when he came back, he had trouble sleeping for days. Anything to avoid the black, blaring _nothing_ he'd just crawled out of.

"All right, then, no sleeping," Jack said. He knew Ianto still needed his rest, but he got the feeling the medicine would see to that soon enough. "Can I get you anything?"

Ianto quickly shook his head, his broken arm brushing against the front of Jack's shirt. It seemed only then did he realize he had a plaster. In the scheme of things, though, it wasn't that important – at least, Ianto didn't appear to think so. He let his arm fall back to the bed, and instead licked his cracked lips. "Stay," he said, and then added, blushing, "if…if it's no trouble…please." He tried to sound calm in the request, but Jack could sense a plea in his words, see the desperation in his eyes.

Ianto didn't want to be alone.

Which, as it turned out, worked just fine, because Jack didn't plan on leaving him anytime soon. "Think there's enough room in that bed for the two of us?"

Casting a glance down – Jack kindly moved out of the way so he could see the bed he was lying on – Ianto looked back up, a weak smile on his face. In that smile, Jack could see the ghost of the old Ianto bleeding through, and it heartened him. "I think so," Ianto muttered, cringing when his voice cracked over the end.

Wincing at the scratchiness of his young lover's voice, Jack reached over to the bedside table and took the glass of water from it. "First things first," he said, turning the straw around and putting it to his lips. Ianto gratefully accepted the help, pulling from the liquid eagerly. "Slowly…slowly, Ianto." When Ianto made no indications of slowing down, Jack pinched the straw. "You'll make yourself sick," he warned, and after a little while longer, he put the glass back on the table. "Better?"

Ianto nodded, reaching up with his left arm – the unbroken one – to rub at his eyes with the heel of his palm. He was fading fast, it looked like, just like Jack had predicted.

"All right, let's see if we can get you over," he said. Luckily, there were numerous extra sheets on the bed, including the one they'd used to shift Ianto from the infirmary bed to this one. Walking around to the other side of the bed, Jack pushed the covers out of the way and gripped the single crisp sheet, pulling it towards him. As Ianto was lying directly on the sheet, he went with it, without jarring him at all. Once he was over far enough, Jack pulled the covers back down and walked back to the other side.

"There we go," Jack said, kicking off his shoes and climbing into bed next to Ianto. It didn't take long for them to get comfortable – they had a sort of design for this sort of thing, especially after what had happened with those cannibals; poor Ianto had been bedridden for weeks after that. Now, Jack lay on his side facing Ianto, his head propped up on one arm as he ran the other through Ianto's short, messy hair. Ianto was pressed as close as he could manage into Jack's chest, and for the first time since Jack had rescued him from the morgue, he seemed to truly relax.

This time, unlike when they'd been trying to get Ianto to sleep the first time, Jack's ministrations were having their usual effect. Heavy eyes grew heavier, and Ianto blinked. Once, he shook his head quickly, and started to push himself up, trying to fight the sleep, but Jack shushed him, pressing feather light kisses to his head and stroking gentle patterns through his hair.

"You're okay," he told him, his voice low and soothing and soft. It was the voice he used to calm Ianto after nightmares, to settle his nerves when tensions got to be too high. "No more darkness, Yan, never again. I've got you now, and I'll never let you go."

Aided by the medicine and Jack's gentle care, sleep was starting to take Ianto. Only this time, he wasn't scared; he was at ease, safe in Jack's arms. As his eyes slid closed and he started to drift, his cracked lips parted as whispers slipped as slurs from them. "Jack…"

"What is it, Yan?" Jack asked, more to humor him than anything. He hardly even expected an answer – Ianto looked to be fast asleep. But then, with a breath of air, three words slipped out before Ianto's finally surrendered to sleep.

"I love you."

And this time, unlike the last time he'd heard those words – when he'd held this same man dying in his arms – Jack didn't refuse it. He said it back.

"I love you too, Ianto Jones." After pressing a kiss to those same lips, Jack laid down beside him, and for the first time in what felt like years, he too fell into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
